


Dreamy Pleasures

by botgal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Derse/Prospit Royalty, Bulges and Nooks, Consensual Somnophilia, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Human/Troll Relationship, Master/Servant, Princess Rose Lalonde, Servant Karkat, Somnophilia, Xeno, it's cool guys they talked this out, troll anatomy very intimately meets human anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9897458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botgal/pseuds/botgal
Summary: In which the youngest princess of Derse and her loyal servant engage in a personal fantasy which they both wholeheartedly share.





	

Rose Lalonde is an incredibly intimidating girl. Even when she is fast asleep.

You find yourself staring down at her as she lies back into her odd human platform that they used in place of a recuperacoon. A 'bed' you believed she called it. Sounded like a stupid, prissy seadweller term. But the bed wasn't the important part of this whole scenario. What _was_ important was the girl who lay on it.

The two of you had spoken about this topic time and time again for the past couple of weeks since you'd discovered your shared hidden desire. Talking and planning and considering all the different angles of the thing. Though you were interested in trying, you were less than ready to allow someone the sort of trust and vulnerability it would take to indulge such things with yourself on the receiving end. So, after a series of conversations, it had been decided betwixt the two of you that Rose would be the one to one to take this end of the plunge for the both of you. So long as you promised you'd take into heavy consideration the switching of roles the next time. If you both decided there should be such a time.

Your mouth is dry as shaky fingers grip nervously onto the thin blanket laying over her, and gently pull it away from her. Your breath catches in your throat and you drop it at the foot of her bed, seeing her in her entirety.

The way she's elegantly splayed out on the sheets, a royal violet like her currently closed eyes, as though she's presenting herself to you in her slumber; nearly transparent fabric of the same color draped over her body with just the slightest suggestion of dark, lacy undergarments tantalizingly hiding the more erotic goals of this shared fantasy from view; the way the crisp-cut edges of her diamond-pale hair dance over her relaxed features.

She's beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Ethereal.

And absolutely terrifying.

As she sometimes does, she brings on some deep, instinctive, momentary fear with a resemblance to the ancient horrorterrots, even if not fully in appearance. As if there's some air of distance from the mortal realm and her, even with her very physical body. Every bit as graceful as she is in waking when her stern, dissecting eyes and unreadable smile seek to draw every last bit of secrets and emotions from you as a cat unravels the entrails from a mouse.

It's not even your rank, though you know that yourself being in this position means you have absolutely no right to think of her in anything close to this way. Let alone see it in the flesh. Not even in how she should entirely own such a lowly servant like yourself, cast out from your own for being so different and placed as the lowest of servants to the youngest princess of Derse. How if you were still on Alternia you should have been culled immediately were you to express interest in a Burgundy, let alone anyone close to royal. Yet here you are, knowing her body as she knows yours from times before this moment, preparing to indulge the both of you in one of your shared darkly sweet desires.

There's a sense of a deeper something. As if she were something entirely outside of this world. She was a Seer who traipsed amongst the tendrils of the horrorterrors and deciphered their whispers, very nearly a member of their innermost circle with how well she knew their secret workings. That if you were to so much as reach out to her your hand should turn to ice and your mind descend into inescapable madness.

And yet here you are, gently stroking her cheek with the barest edge of your index finger, focused only on how soft her skin is against yours.

Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, the stirring you feel deep and low in your loins. You keep focus, though, and you lower your hands to her.

First the top of the useless, near transparent dress is gently lowered down her arms. The silky kiss of softness gracing down her arms and her body as you bring it to rest at her waist. Then you carefully reach under her, praying to the gods and horrorterrors that your movements be not careless and you can remove it her bra without waking her. Your feat is accomplished, and the thing vanishes from her and into your grasp as if you were a master thief slipping it away from the temple that is her body.

The stroke of cool air caresses her newly bared skin, you can see the way perfect, pert nubs on her chest perk up in the absence of covering. A prickling shiver runs down your spine at the sight as you feel the great hot release of pressure when your bulge unsheathes. You're so weak, but you can't help it. Your hands lower, soon pressing warmly but gently against the softness of her breasts. You can feel the little spots of firmness in your palms, but the rest is all perfect and smooth in your grasp.

She lets out a small sound and you freeze, hesitating in case she's awoken. But all she does is shift her head and nothing more. Still you wait a few moments longer, just in case, feeling the impatient writhing of your bulge in your boxers as it urges you to proceed.

At last you give in to your body's prompting, and you go on. Your rougher hands knead her breasts gently as they can, while your legs straddle you over her so you can lean in close. Your nothing like your blind friend, but there are scents on Rose that are so distinctive you could tell it from one just one sniff. Lavender, rosemary, those hints of herbs that you know but can't name that she has made into her personal soaps and shampoos. You get a whiff of all of these and your bulge strains further against its cloth containment. Already you can feel the hot drips of genetic material soaking through and dripping down the insides of your thighs. You ignore the slight lines of chill they leave as the air steals away the warmth so you and press your lips to the delicate curve of her neck.

You leave a gentle trail of kisses and licks along her neck and her jawline, all the while pausing nervously every time she shifts or lets out a small sound. You don't dare leave marks on her skin. Not because you fear punishment, but because you feel unworthy to mar her perfection with marks left by you. No matter how much you allow her to mark you with the darkness of her lipstick and the gentle sting of her teeth.

You keep with the gentle caresses until you can take it no longer. Your nook is seeping and your bulge is begging for touch. So reluctantly you pull yourself away and move lower down, feeling your pulse as your heart stays trapped up in your throat.

You slip the skirt up to join where the rest is bunched up at her waist, baring the dark lace of her panties to you in the dimness. Carefully you lean down, parting her thighs with your hand until your face is settled right in front of her. The scent of her is strong, and one experimental dart of your tongue against the thin fabric lets you know they're already soaked. Rose had said humans could get aroused in their sleep, didn't she? Perhaps that was more true than you realized. Even so, you put that thought aside and focus on the task at hand.

You press your mouth against her panties, still unwilling to remove them, your hand sneaking into your own undergarment as you fail to resist temptation. Your lips and tongue massage her through the thin shield of lacy lingerie, while your bulge curls around your wrist and your fingers pump slowly into your own nook. You let out a muted moan against her, and you feel her thighs quiver. Once or twice you pause, thinking she might be on the verge of awakening, if not already so, and ask if she's alright. Yet each time you hear silence, and so you continue.

At last you brush aside the garment just the slightest bit, so you can run your tongue over her folds and that little nub that causes the squirming and shivers to intensify each time you touch it. The little gasps and moans she makes set your nerves on edge, but somehow keep you at it more furiously than before. By the time your tongue is sliding along the velvet of her inner walls, practically fucking her with that alone, you can't take it anymore. Your bulge is tensed around your hand and begs to feel the sensation of her heat around it. So you give in to it.

You sit up and pull the panties away, tossing them off the bed before you line yourself up with her. Her legs are spread and her lower body practically in your lap, while your bulge slaps gently but needily against her as it seeks its entrance. It doesn't take long to find, and you have to bite your lower lip between your teeth as you at last can feel her enclose you.

To your amazement, she's still asleep, but a soft sheen of sweat glistens now on her body, her lips, not darkened by the black of her lipstick for once, parted and trembling each time she lets out a breathy gasp. One hand grips onto her thigh while the other takes hold of her breast again.

Your bulge, now exactly where it's been begging to be all this time, tries to curl with reckless abandon inside her. And oh how you want it to, but the fantasy isn't over yet. You still want to take this as far as you can, see if perhaps you can be satisfied while she's still asleep. Or, better yet, even, see if you can make her come while she's still asleep.

You imagine she'd be amused by how hard you of all people are trying to keep quiet if she were awake to be knowledgeable to that fact. But she isn't, and so your muffled moans and grunts are for your ears alone. Your bulge burrows deeply into her as it can go, feeling the tense and press of her walls as if they're accepting, _urging_ even, the push of it. Ragged gasps manage to escape from you the further on you proceed. Your nook spasms as it pleads for something to satisfy it as well, but your hands are still focused on her.

You manage to keep the sleeping princess in your lap even as your hips shift for further push, you can hear her own sounds almost echoing your muted ones the closer you get.

At last, you come inside of her with an unmuted groan that shatter's the room's muted quiet, and red material flows from you. Spilling inside of Rose and, no doubt, staining her sheets. As your bulge flexes within her, you can barely feel the spasm that isn't yours as she comes in turn, though the sound she makes clearly tells you that both halves of your fantasy have been thoroughly fulfilled.

You sit there slightly slumped over, taking in deep breaths while your bulge still occasionally flicks as it languishes in the warmth of her, still not entirely willing to leave it to return to your sheathe.

The shifting on you doesn't even register until you look up and realize she's right there, perched in your lap with her legs still on either side of you. You start more out of reflex than anything. You've become very used to the way she moves as if she were made of pure shadow and moonlight. There's a knowing smile on her face, and you let out a heavy sigh.

“How long?” The end of the smile twitches, and she leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Long enough.” She's always so cryptic like this. Infuriatingly so, yet that doesn't stop it from being any more endearing on her than the way the ends of her hair always seem to be impeccably curled towards her delicate jawline. She kisses you again, and delicate fingers run through the tangle of your dark hair. She's so close to you like this, violet eyes gazing into yours as your chests press together. Your bulge twitches inside her again against your will, and the flicker in her eyes tells you she no doubt felt it.

“Still not quite yet satisfied, are we Mr. Vantas?” You don't even get a chance to splutter before a finger is pressed to your lips. “That's quite alright. Here, you've done enough work for tonight.” Her palms press delicately against your abdomen, applying almost no force, yet you lie back the moment she gives a gentle push.

“Perhaps next time we'll be doing this when you're the one with his eyes closed. But, for now, you can just lie back, relax, and enjoy.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by this [lovely piece of art](http://syblatortue.tumblr.com/post/127203068191/what-do-you-mean-no-one-asked-for-that-particular) by the lovely [syblatortue](http://syblatortue.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
